Woke up again, 3 AM
Subconsciously trying to tell me
That things are amiss
Is there a point that I have missed?
Answers on a horizon I cannot fathom
Eclipsing my vision, iris circumcision
Decisions to make, faces to fake
As my feet quake, hope gets raked
Such an ache
Wanted a rhapsody
Received a lament, such a descent
On top of the world like a king and queen
Entertaining hypotheticals
Hope is not in the reticule
I'd call myself prophetical if more were esthetical
Wanting more from myself
While my health gets put on the shelf
Flying high in the sky
Until I wake up
Then my feet and future become clandestine